


What's in the woods?

by hallouween



Series: Alphabetical Order [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Claustrophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, I love that trope, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Only One Bed, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Sharing a Bed, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, i slurp that shit like spaghetti, we crave that vulnerability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallouween/pseuds/hallouween
Summary: Steve goes on the trip because he wants to get out of his house. He goes on the trip because he can’t keep on leaving the lights on in every single room of the house.So, when Billy Hargrove shoots a 3 points basket during the semi-final of the  basketball tournament and Hawkins High’s team qualifies to go to Indianapolis for the big game, it’s a relief.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Alphabetical Order [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802041
Comments: 21
Kudos: 80





	What's in the woods?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank God for coachesclipboard.net because I know nothing about basketball, lol. French person here, let me know if there are mistakes so I can correct them please.

Steve goes on the trip because he wants to get out of his house. He _needs_ to get out of his house. In fact, he needs to get out of Hawkins. He can’t go through another winter alone in the massive Harrington mansion. Not with the slow, cold dread that overtakes his body whenever tree branches rattle against the roof, not when his body instinctively coils on itself when he sees monsters in the shadows cast through his bedroom windows by passing cars.

He goes on the trip because he can’t keep on leaving the lights on in every single room of the house. At all time of the day and night. He can’t bear the darkness but the silence is worse so he keeps everything on and running. The lights, but also the TV and even that tiny red radio he bought for his room, the one El likes listening to when she visits with the gang. All of these form a tapestry of light, noise and distraction he needs to stay sane. But earlier this month, it had been torn apart when the electricity bill betrayed him and his father called all the way from San Francisco to scold Steve about it.

"I’m done paying for your winter extravaganza, young man," Mr. Harrington had said, his voice as cold as the telephone handset in Steve’s hands, "You stop the parties and you start studying."

Steve had wanted to argue but instead he stayed quiet, afraid that, if he spoke, all the things that he worked so hard to repress would come right out. How if he doesn’t listen to giddy TV cooking show hosts gushing about the latest blender for your kitchen or some useless shit then all he can hear are demodogs growling and scratching at the glass of the living room windows. How he can’t breathe sometimes because it feels like he’s back into the maze of tunnels under his house, under all of Hawkins, and there’s that horrid stench and he can't breathe and he's going to die.

All of it, the horror, the lab, the monsters, the stink of death threatened to slip right out of his lips at any moment and where would he be after that? What good would it do? To El Hopper, to Will Byers?

He’s going crazy, he’s sure of it. King Steve, Bullshit Steve... he should add Insane Steve to the list.

So, when Billy Hargrove shoots a 3 points basket during the semi-final of the **_Indiana High School Boys Basketball Tournament_** and Hawkins High’s team qualifies to go to Indianapolis for the big game, it’s a relief. He almost feels like crying.

Coach Richards accepts the pink permission slip despite it being obvious that it wasn’t signed by Mr. Harrington senior. It’s not like Steve tried really hard at mimicking his father’s signature anyway and the coach is certainly familiar enough with Steve’s dad’s prim and proper handwriting for having seen it on checks for the school. Yet, he puts the slip in his binder and dismisses Steve.

For once, Steve is happy that his father’s money can buy people because he’s not in the mood for an argument — after all, it was him who threw the ball to Hargrove to shoot the winning basket so maybe he's not as useless to the team as it seems?

The next hours are a bit of a blur. Trig, Spanish, Econ and Management (his father had insisted on this for his senior year), History... the classes all sort of merge together into a big, grey mush.

Sleep catches him in English class and he dozes off; his teacher’s voice is soothing, she’s talking about symbolism in _The Great Gatsby_ and Steve feels as if he’s the one being drawn towards the comfort of the green light.

He floats quietly, half-in, half-out, until some jerk —Tommy’s new best friend?— thinks it’s a good idea to drag his nails down the blackboard. Steve knows the drill by now: his eyes snap open as his body goes rigid and his heartbeat quickens. The rational part of his brain, house to his last brain cells, screams that he’s okay, that he’s in class and it’s Friday morning but it’s too late. He’s in the Upside Down and sharp-clawed creatures are after him. He swears he can hear them shriek after him.

He tries his best to ride the wave but he’s gripping his desk so hard that his knuckles turn white. It doesn’t go unnoticed to Ms. Mundy, who stops the lecture and asks if he’s alright in that same worried tone Nancy speaks to him sometimes. A circle of intrigued, annoyed and mocking eyes set on him so he forces himself to nod. They all turn away and focus back on the lesson and he tries to do the same.

Eventually, the panic goes away and so does Steve at the end of the day. No one is waiting for him anyway — it’s Mrs. Wheeler’s turn to collect the kids today since they’re having a sleepover this weekend and Nancy has a study date with Jonathan. The brunette offers him to accompany them to the library; they’ve all been pretty friendly lately. At first, Steve thinks it must be because the whole Upside Down thing has got him desperate for all the scraps of human interaction he can find or he’s not completely over Nancy or maybe he’s just being masochistically nice but in the end, he realizes he just enjoys their company. _Their_ company as in Nancy _and_ Jonathan. The weekly dinners at the Byers help. Jonathan is not as pretentious as Steve thought and it turns out Steve can be a lot less of a dick when he’s not trying to stay at the top of the Hawkins High popularity pyramid.

However, he’s not in the mood today. He just wants to go home.

No one is waiting for him there either but his 1981 BMW glides over the asphalt like a predator sprinting after a prey. Maybe if he drives fast enough time will go by quicker, maybe if he drives fast enough he can get out of Hawkins. Next week can't come fast enough.

 _God_ , he needs that trip like he needs air.

That night he dreams of flickering lights, blood and Barbara’s body rotting under his pool.

* * *

He manages not to go batshit crazy by the time Friday morning arrives and rides in Hopper’s police car to Hawking High’s parking lot.

"To thank you for everything you do for the kids." Hopper had mumbled the other night as he smoked a cigarette on the porch after the Wednesday dinner at the Byers’ house. Steve had frowned. This was so unlike the chief of police; he suspected Joyce had something to do with this. She had thrown him a couple of worried looks over the roast chicken and potatoes at dinner.

Was it because he struggled to empty his plate or because of the bags under his eyes? He opted for the latter since she kept on eyeing him even after he ate everything on his plate and even asked for seconds to go. She had smiled at that but he knew she wasn’t fooled. Especially when Will sported the same exhausted look as Steve on his face.

When the car pulls into the parking lot, the bus is already there. It’s empty but there’s light inside. Frank, the driver, must have let the ignition on so that the heating system could run. _Good_ , Steve thinks, he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened during the last school trip when they almost froze to death in the back of the bus.

He feels a tremor of impatience running through his legs, signaling that he’s ready to get out of this town already.

The chief turns down the volume of his cassette player —a song about a guy named Jim who spits in the wind or something—, eases the pressure of the brakes and the car stops.

"You want me to stay, kid?" he asks and Steve realizes Jim Hopper is already more of a father to him than his actual dad.

"No, it’s okay, thank you. The driver should be back soon. We’re supposed to leave at 6AM sharp."

"Mmh Frank," Hopper says, with a smile on his lips, "He must be somewhere chatting up Phyllis."

They both laugh.

"You take care of yourself up there, Harrington," the chief continues, "and you call me if there’s any trouble."

His eyes are dark and his eyebrows are furrowed on his forehead. Steve knows what kind of trouble he means. Less of the supernatural kind and more of the Billy Hargrove kind.

Hopper stays silent until Steve agrees. "I’ll call you if anything happens."

"Good. Now get out there and go kick some ass. I want to see that trophy when you come back, son!"

Steve smiles again. It's a nice change from his dad's constant disappointment in Steve.

He gets out of the car and waves goodbye as it gets back on the main road. _You don’t mess around with Jim_ starts playing again, loud, then fades away as the 1980 Chevrolet takes the direction of the town’s center.

Steve pulls the hood on his fur-lined coat and marches towards the bus where a few kids are already waiting. If they’re surprised about the scene that just unfolded before their eyes, they’re hiding it well. Then again, what’s there to be really surprised about? Word in Hawkins High’s hallways is that Steve’s parents have hired the chief of police to protect their son after Billy beat Steve’s face to a pulp in November.

It’s not true of course, but it’s not exactly far from the truth either; when the Harringtons came back from their business/holiday/anything-but-spending-time-with-our-son trip in New York, they absolutely flipped. Apparently it’s one thing to come back home to a couple of broken vases and missing expensive Bourbon but it’s another to find your son bruised all over.

They made a huge scene at the police station. No wonder why the whole town knows about this now.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington had threatened to press charges but Hopper had managed to defuse the situation. Still, Steve’s dad had demanded an apology. For the _principle of the thing_ — Steve had insisted it was okay, that he was okay but his dad had been firm. _A Harrington needs to be given the respect he's owed_.

Followed, one of the most embarrassing moments of Steve’s life. The Harringtons were sitting in the not-so comfortable seats in Hopper’s office and the Hargroves, parents and children, were in front of them. Hopper had mumbled something about charges being dropped, Neil Hargrove had said something about respect and responsibility to which the Harringtons had acquiesced and Billy had flinched, Steve could see Max biting into her bottom lip from the corner of his bruised eye.

It had felt like a weird, curious dream which had turned into a twisted nightmare when Mr. Hargrove interrupted his son’s muttered apology, barking ''Louder!"

Awful day. Steve tries not to think about it. Tries not to think about how guilty he feels. Tries not to think about how his parents would do this sometimes, for show —care for Steve publicly, even defend him, then forget about him in the next second. They hadn't even spent Christmas at home with him.

That memory is way up there on his _list of things not to think about in order to stay sane,_ ranking below the nightmares and everything. It’s getting quite long now, the list.

Around 6AM, after long minutes of small talk with some guys on the team, Steve finally grabs a window seat at the front of the bus. That’s his best shot not to have a partner. He puts his travel bag on the free seat next to him for good measure. Everything about his demeanor screams do not talk to me, yet he sees a hand grab his bag and shove it on the floor under the seats. The seat next to him sinks under the weight of its new occupant: Billy Hargrove.

"No." Steve blurts, staring at the blonde boy. There’s something on Hargrove’s face, something a little angry and surprised, almost hurt, but he calmly retorts, "I want to sit here, Harrington."

It’s January yet Billy’s shirt is open and Steve can see golden hair on his chest. It’s distracting. Steve focuses back on the conversation just as his mind starts imagining how Billy's hair would feel under Steve's fingers, "There is a whole bus, you can’t sit here." _I don’t want you to sit here._

But Billy simply grins that stupid grin that Steve hates and gets comfortable in his seat, pulling out a book Steve recognizes from Nancy’s AP English class. Tolstoy’s _Anna Karenina_. He vaguely remembers Nancy telling him about the opening line of the book. Something about happy families being alike and unhappy families being miserable in their own way. He thinks it fits himself... maybe it fits Billy too?

After the events at the police station, Billy had not shown up to school for a few days. When Steve had asked Max about it, she answered that Neil had not been too happy about being summoned to the police station. Steve knows he is dense but he isn’t that dense; he can imagine what went on in the Hargrove household that day. As his head vibrates against the window, he decides that Billy is miserable in his own way and he resolves not to think about it anymore. It’s on his list now.

It’s a long trip to get to Indianapolis and Steve doesn’t realize he has drifted off until he feels something poking his ribs. He blinks as he takes in his surroundings; they’re still in the bus on the way to the big city, Jonathan’s _Tunes to chill to_ mixtape is still playing in his Walkman and Billy is... watching him from where he’s slumped in his seat?

Steve frowns, wiping off the drool on the left corner of his mouth, ''Why did you wake me?"

"You were moaning in your sleep, pretty boy." Billy deadpans. The nickname feels sour, almost as if it crossed Billy’s lips without his consent. It'd been a while since Billy had called him that. Actually, it had been a while since Billy had even deigned look at Steve in the eyes — since he came back to school after the incidents of November.

It feels strange to have the younger boy look at Steve with something else than rage and irritation, to have him talk to Steve again, as if the last few weeks of being barely civil to him when they dropped the kids off at the arcade or straight up ignoring him at school were nothing but a fever dream.

Hargrove asks, "Thinking about that Wheeler chick?"

He’s chewing on the corner of his lip and his fingers are twisting the chain of his necklace — he looks nervous but it could just be that he’s dying to have a cigarette. Frank hasn't stopped for a break yet.

An expecting look on Hargrove’s face implies that he’s actually waiting for an answer and not being an astronomically large dick so Steve shakes his head. "No. Just a bad dream."

He’s ready to go back to sleep but Billy breaks the silence again, "Thinking about me then?"

It’s said with humor although Steve thinks he can hear a shake in Billy’s voice. Something like... guilt?

He doesn’t ask about it though because they’re not like this, they don’t comfort each other or talk about their feelings. They’re not friends.

He opts for the same tone as Billy and jokes back, "You wish, Hargrove."

This time he clearly sees the expression of his seat partner: relief. It’s faint, controlled but it’s there.

Next to him, the boy chuckles lowly and goes back to his book. Steve can see the little fold at the top of the page Billy has marked.

He knows from the Literary Analysis class they share that Billy goes through books at light speed, no matter how thick or dull they are. Steve wonders what could possibly have distracted him so much that he’s read so little in all the hours they’ve been sitting in the bus. Before he can give it much thought he’s called back into Morpheus’ arms.

* * *

Indianapolis is cold as fuck. Not as snowy as Hawkins but the icy city air is enough to make Steve miss the warmth of the bus and the heat of Billy’s body next to him. Coach Richards has them standing on the sidewalk in a disgusting mix of grey snow and dirt as he counts to see if no one’s missing. As if someone could’ve jumped off the bus. Steve rolls his eyes.

A glacial breeze makes him shiver and he bundles up even more in his winter coat. He glances at Hargrove next to him; the blond-haired boy is wearing a simple overcoat that looks nowhere near as warm as it should be for this season and an ugly scarf under which golden chest hair are peaking. He doesn’t complain about the cold though. He even looks happy to be there.

''Now, listen up team!" Richards yells once he’s sure everyone is here, ''This isn’t like the backwater hillbilly shit back in Hawkins, okay? This is a fine establishment and I expect you to behave. Hagan, you get into a fight with another player and I send your ass back home, understood?"

Tommy makes a rude noise from where he’s standing with his friends.

"Same goes to you, Hargrove! You give me any shit this weekend and I will call your parents."

The boy smirks, cold and bitter, "Yes, sir."

"And button your goddamn shirt!"

When Richard is done, the team is finally allowed inside the hotel’s lobby. The coach is right, it _is_ a nice hotel. Steve didn’t really expect it because when they go on school trips they usually stay in shitty places with questionable stains on the carpets, greasy stairways and sketchy guests (them included).

This isn’t your typical school trip though, it’s their shot at winning a basketball competition Hawkins hasn’t won in 50 years. No wonder the administration decided to splash some cash.

The lobby is crowded thus the nice buzz in there. The players from the other team are in there too, figuring out their reservations and room arrangements and so are a couple of cheerleading teams here for the event too and the normal guests staying at the hotel.

Steve feels a little high from all of this; he’s out of Hawkins for the weekend, they’re staying in a great place and there’s a chance his team will win the competition. He’s happy. Yeah, he’s happy to be there.

Richards guides them through the crowd once he’s done greeting his coach buddies and coordinating. They walk under a large chandelier and stop next to impressively neat decorative potted plants. Damn, this is a _nice_ hotel.

Maybe it’s too nice, actually. Way too nice with its marble-like floors and its oriental rugs and its shiny elevators.

The elevators.

Ever since the tunnels in Hawkins, Steve avoids small spaces at _all_ costs. Too often they’re the scene of his nightmares and even if he’s not been in the lab’s elevator, his mind has painted quite the picture of it for him. Elevators mean bad men in white coats and inter-dimensional portals from which crawl creatures of nightmares. Creatures with faces that open to thousands of teeth and who are bound to make him die a painful death at their flower-shaped mouths.

The elevator opens in front of them with a _ding_ and Steve wants to turn around. He wants to go home and hide under his bed forever.

His body hasn’t quite decided in which direction he should run when he finds himself pushed inside by the excited team around him. Someone slaps him on the back and raves about how _they are so going to win that tournament_.

He wants to say yes, to laugh, to have a good time with the others but he no longer has control over his body. It’s like his insides are shattering.

He can’t quite contain the whimper that escape his lips as the door closes. He closes his eyes too; it’s better if he can’t see the walls. His mind goes down into a fog of panic as the lift goes up. A little voice in his head whispers that there’s too many of them inside, that the noise will attract monsters and Steve listens to it over the voice of Coach Richards who seems to be rambling about the room matchups.

He can only hear his thudding heartbeat now as the elevator goes up and up and up. It doesn’t seem to stop and keeps on going impossibly higher. There’s a good chance he’s going to throw up now.

Suddenly it stops and the doors slide open with a merry _ding_.

Steve practically leaps out. He’s safe, thank God. The carpeted corridor where he gets out is well-lit and the flourishes around him do their best to remind him he’s on the 4th floor of the Indianapolis Park Plaza, not dying in a hole.

He puts his head on the nearby wall, trying his best to calm down. It’s not working; the team keeps moving and making noise around him and it’s just too easy to think of them as demodogs rushing past him.

A voice calls after him, "Harrington?"

Steve must be in some special sort of hell. Billy fucking Hargrove is here, of course. He doesn’t want for Billy to see him like this. The blonde-haired boy has been too close all day, in the bus, in the elevator, fucking everywhere. Steve wants to tell him to fuck off but breathing is still impossible.

He closes his eyes again but Billy calls after him once more. Softer this time.

Steve manages to croak out, "What do you want, Hargrove?"

 _Shit_. It's supposed to come out with more bite but it just sounds awful. It mustn’t sound any better to Billy because he gets closer to Steve, alarm written all over his face.

"Christ, you look like you’re gonna fucking faint."

The words are devoid of the Hargrove trademark bellicosity, instead he sounds genuinely worried for the brunet.

"Just take a second, all right?" he says. Steve wants to ask him what the fuck does he think Steve’s doing. Does it look like he has his face on the fucking wall for fun?

But Hargrove starts again, "Look at me, Steve."

The use of his first name is enough to force his focus on Billy who’s now taking a long inhalation then exhales. He pauses. It becomes clear to Steve that Billy expects him to mimic his movements, so he does just that.

They breathe in and out like this until Steve is no longer pale as a _ghost from Indiana_. Billy’s words, not his.

After a moment, he starts feeling better. Who would have thought that Billy Hargrove out of all people would help him with a panic attack?

Another question floats somewhere, deep in his mind: how come Billy knows how to respond to that? He doesn’t really seem like the caring type.

A hand applying pressure on the back of his neck startles him. _What the fuck?_

He tenses and so does Hargrove when he feels Steve stiffening.

Their eyes meet and the blue-freckled ones seem to ask _Is this okay?_ to his own brown eyes.

Billy starts massaging his neck, slowly, slightly hesitant and Steve relaxes. It feels as if knots of stress are untying in his body.

"Good," Billy smiles, "Very good. Can you move now?"

Steve nods. His legs feel wobbly and he’s scared he will fall if he doesn’t have the support of the wall but he wants to get out of the hallway.

Billy seems to read his mind. "Let’s go to our room, you can lay down before practice."

"Our room..?"

This isn’t good, Steve grimaces, this isn’t good at all. He has... feelings for Billy. Conflicted, makes-you-wanna-rip-your-head-off kind of feelings which generally oscillate between _I want to kiss you so much_ and _I want to punch you in the face_. Steve doesn't know how it happened; he can't quite fix the moment he started feeling like this, if it was the second he saw Billy in the parking lot, all tight denim and screaming trouble, or when Billy started backing up all of Steve's shitty takes on books in Lit Analysis class and it made Steve feel less stupid. Or maybe it's all the teasing at practice when Billy gets all up in Steve’s space, the electricity between them on game days as they move in sync like they can read each other's minds.

Steve honestly doesn't know: he was in the middle of it before he even knew it had started.

He isn’t really sure how he feels about that. What he’s sure about though is that you can’t casually bunk in with someone you are attracted to. Especially if it’s a boy, and that boy is Billy Hargrove. He neither wants for the last shreds of his sanity to be tested nor for Billy to beat him up again because of a stupid crush.

He feels Billy tensing again. "Yeah, the room assignments are alphabetical. Richards said it in the elevator."

He dangles the keys in front of Steve, not to taunt him but more to... prove he’s telling the truth?

Steve is too tired to argue or to try to decipher the expression on Billy’s face, he just wants to shower and nap. The bus ride was more exhausting than refreshing and he _needs_ to rest after being on edge all day.

He searches for his bag but finds Billy is already holding it, along with his own bag. He looks just as on edge as Steve for some reason and his eyes seem to ask the same question as earlier, _Is this okay?_

Steve decides it’s okay and doesn’t say anything. It’s too... strange, too raw. He feels too vulnerable. He doesn’t want to be pitied.

He tries to remind himself that they’re not friends, that Billy is mean and ruthless but as they silently walk to their room he can’t help but wonder if they can still be.

* * *

There’s no way he’s sleeping in the same bed as Billy Hargrove. That’s the first thought that crosses his mind when he gets inside the room. The second is that Hawkins High has splashed their money on all the wrong things because there’s no way he’s sleeping in the same bed as Billy Hargrove! Why is it that room 407 has only one bed? It must be a mistake. They must’ve gotten Coach Richards’ room, that’s the only explanation to why there’s only one freaking bed in the room. A large, plush bed, mind you, but one (1) bed. One, uno, un. If he pops wood in the same bed as Billy Hargrove, Steve’s as good as dead.

His thoughts pretty much center on that for a good minute during which neither of them say a word.

Steve’s never shared a bed with another boy before, not even when Tommy and him were younger and they had sleepovers at his place. Hawkins, Indiana has a bit of an unspoken no homo rule.

Hawkins High, on the contrary, has a fully spoken no homo rule. Usually, the high school’s administration board managed to pay so that male students needn’t share a bed. On the handful of occasions where it had been impossible because the school was too broke, Steve, who at the time was at the top of the school’s social ladder, would be given the bed by his roommate who would settle on the floor.

He was King Steve after all, and they believed it was the natural order of things.

However, Billy is king now.

Steve glances at his bedmate whose mind seems be going absolutely haywire. Weird, he would have thought these things to be pretty normal in progressive California. Also, Billy’s been kinda nice today so Steve thought maybe...

He’s ready to start building a nest on the carpet —the corner of the room looks promising and it’ll be a great opportunity to showcase the skills he acquired in Henderson and Sinclair’s _Pillow Fort building 101_ class — when he’s interrupted.

''We can share." Hargrove heaves, almost like it’s painful to say it out loud. Steve wonders why but he doesn’t ask. Not because he’s afraid that Billy will take his offer back but because this is new and unexpected. It’s hesitant and fragile. It’s Billy extending him an olive branch. Billy taking a shot at being friends.

''We can share the bed, Steve." he repeats, louder because the brunet is still silent in front of him.

There it is again, _Steve_. Billy says his first name in a way that seems to ask for a truce. At this point, he’s practically hitting Steve’s head with that olive branch.

Consequently, Steve decides to extend one of his own.

"Thank you... Billy." The name is foreign in his mouth but Steve decides he wants to say it until it feels as normal as breathing, as normal as saying his own. _Billy. Billy. Billy._

The blonde-haired boy is beaming.

All of a sudden, it makes sense to Steve why Billy is from California; it’s because he’s the goddamn sun.

It’s not exactly like they’re picking up where they left off because they never had a friendship to begin with. They’re just starting at being proper friends but they’re not taking baby steps either.

Steve and Billy are in a grey area: they kinda know each other from all the taunting and teasing but at the same time, they don’t _really_ know each other. Hence why, it’s new but also familiar at the same time.

Billy tosses his bag on the floor, along with his coat and scarf and it makes Steve smile because that’s exactly how he pictured Billy. Messy and chaotic.

While he’s digging through his bag for shorts, a hoodie and his bathroom supplies, he considers that perhaps Billy also has his own idea of who Steve is.

They give a try at small talk. It falls short and for a couple of seconds there’s just the sounds of zippers closing and opening and fingers folding fabric.

When Billy starts roaming around the room, they try again and it works this time.

"You ever stayed in a place like this?" the younger boy asks from the corner of the room he’s inspecting.

Steve has. He’d stayed in plenty of luxury hotels when he accompanied his parents on business trips or on family holidays.

He’s not stupid, he knows his family is wealthier than most in Hawkins. It used to be a great source of amusement for him; he was flashy with his money and loved the reactions it generated from people: envy, awe, respect but that was Before. Before the Upside Down and the monsters and Barb dying in his pool because he was too self-absorbed and vain to care about her.

So, he doesn’t want to rub it in Billy’s face by saying he’s accustomed to places like this.

Instead, he jokes, imitating Coach Richards’ tone from earlier, ''Never in such a fine establishment."

Billy laughs and moves from his spot near the paintings to the desk where a decorative bowl of potpourri sits, immaculate.

He picks up a few of the dried rose petals and let them fall back in the bowl.

''Have some of this in your castle, princess?"

 _Princess_. Steve doesn’t mean to flush at the nickname. Billy has called him worst things than that in the past but this one always makes his stomach twist with a feeling he can’t exactly pinpoint but feels a lot like arousal. He convinces himself that it’s the exhaustion and the nerves from the situation because he doesn't want to think about the real reasons why Billy Hargrove calling him pet names gets his heart beating so hard in his chest. At least not when Billy is here, looking at him.

"Don’t call me that, asshole." he dictates, trying to conceal his blush, "And as a matter of fact, I do have some at home."

Billy snorts and whispers something that sounds like "of course".

They keep on chatting. There are a few blanks and hesitations — they’re obviously staying clear of some subjects like that night at the Byers™️ or the incident at the police station and Billy has the decency to avoid the elephant in the room aka Steve losing his marbles in the elevator— but it’s alright.

On his way to the bathroom, Steve thinks that if someone had told him this morning the day would take such a direction, he would definitely have laughed at their face.

"You’re not gonna faint in the shower, are you, pretty boy?" Billy jokes, just as Steve enters the other room. The brunet can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him.

"Dickhead." he answers, throwing his towel at Billy. The blond-haired boy catches it and grins back at Steve, his canines sharp and white.

"You better throw better than that on game night 'cause I wanna win that trophy."

Steve pokes his tongue at Billy and the boy throws the towel back at his face.

Steve is unable to wipe the idiotic smile off his face even as he showers.

The water is hot. It feels good. _They_ don’t like it hot.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he finds his assigned roommate sprawled on the bed — _their_ bed—, engrossed in his book.

Steve stays by the door, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, unsure of what to do now.

Hargrove looks comfortable on the bed and the bed itself looks comfortable; Steve wants nothing else but to lay down. He knows they’re trying this new friendship thing so he shouldn’t feel so weirded out but the situation is so odd.

Billy has taken his shirt off and Steve has seen him shirtless a hundred times but it’s not like they’re at practice or in the locker room; right now, he feels like he’s about to get into bed with Billy and it makes his mouth a little dry.

On the mattress, Billy fidgets and his fingers find their usual place on his golden chain and twist. Steve suspects the younger boy has reached an interesting part in the book.

He takes a few steps inside the room, not quite in the direction of the bed but almost. He sits on the chair where he’d laid down his stuff earlier and he unzips his bag to put away his folded clothes. He also spruces up his coat and put it in the wardrobe. Then, he just sort of stands in the middle of the room.

A long minute goes by and Billy grows tense on the bed again, restless.

''Just sit the fuck down, Harrington." he snaps. His voice startles them both and it looks like Billy regrets the words the second they leave his mouth.

''I’m not going to..." _hurt you._ Billy doesn’t say the words but Steve hears them properly.

Another minute.

''Don’t worry, I don’t bite." Billy tries, patting the free space on the bed. He’s joking but it's weak and watery and his voice has that edge to it. It’s a poor attempt at breaking the tension that’s built around them but it’s an attempt nonetheless and Steve appreciates it.

With a sigh, he gets on the bed and slides under the covers. _Good heavens_ , the bed is just as cozy as Steve’s at home.

Next to him, Billy instantly relaxes.

Steve gives a couple of tries at falling asleep: he closes his eyes, tries to slow his breathing, tries to stop his ever-running mind and stay still but he can’t. His thoughts are focused on his bedmate and Steve’s inexplicable attraction to him. Every time he tries to think of something random that doesn’t involve Billy, the soft sound of pages turning near him brings the boy back into his mind.

Finally, Steve gives up and shifts on the bed to face Billy.

"What’s the book about?"

Billy does that stupid thing where he runs his tongue along his teeth then wets his lips. It’s ridiculous but Steve likes it. A lot.

He turns to look over at Steve, amused, "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Of course Billy is going to make him work for it so Steve scoots closer and asks again.

"C’mon, don’t be a jerk, tell me."

He doesn’t know why he’s insisting but he really wants Billy’s attention right now. Is he really competing with _Anna Karenina_? God, he’s pathetic.

Billy smirks but he humors Steve anyway.

"It’s a love story between two people who are not supposed to get together but they do and it fucks everything up."

Steve gawks at him, he didn’t expect that. It's such a simple plot. Aren't AP English classes supposed to be more demanding and exciting? Billy is smart and his intelligence should be challenged, not wasted. Steve's brain warns him not to say this out loud, arguing that Steve isn't supposed to know these things about Billy and it would make him look like a creep à la Byers, but the words are already out of his mouth.

 _Shit_. Good job, Harrington.

He glances up to find Billy grinning for some reason and the warmth of his smile cuts through Steve's internal tirade, so he asks,

"If the story’s so simple then why’s the book so big?"

"Well, it’s more complicated than that." the blond-haired boy answers then he pauses for a second, as if he’s waiting for Steve’s permission to continue. Steve nods, _tell me_.

"Didn’t really take you for the scholar type, Harrington."

Steve kicks him under the bed sheets and it feels oddly intimate. He’s almost disappointed that he can’t feel Billy’s bare feet on his own. "Asshole."

The younger boy laughs then starts detailing the story and ranting about the themes explored in the novel.

Steve wants to listen to him, he really does but his attention sort of zeroes on Billy’s lips. They’re pink and a tad shiny where Billy has wetted them with his tongue and they’re curling around words like _the blessings of family life_ , _morality_ , _social change in 19th century Russia_ and _carnal desire_.

 _Fuck_. He could listen to Billy talk about carnal desire for hours.

Steve used to like it when Nancy would explain things to him too: books plots, historical events, anything really —it would kinda get him going. So, to hear Billy ramble about the book’s themes, even if it’s about _the philosophical value of farming_ , has the hair standing on the back of his neck.

"Are you even listening?" Billy asks. There’s a mirthful glint in his blue eyes and no, Steve definitely isn’t listening.

Billy must’ve caught up because he sets the book on his bedside table.

"Guess what?" he whispers and Steve feels him move closer.

Before the brunet can ask, Billy yanks on the strings of Steve’s hoodie and closes the hood over his face. Steve bats the blonde’s hand away, giggling.

When he can see again, Billy is standing up, a towel in his hand and Steve tries not to feel too disappointed about him leaving the bed.

"Jesus! Why’s there so much condensation in here?" Billy yells from the bathroom, "Next time I’m showering before you, Steve."

 _Steve_. Steve smiles as he listens to muted noises of his roommate showering, a perfect lullaby for him.

He thinks they can be friends. It’s going to take a bit of time and practice as they figure each other out but he thinks they can do it. He knows they can.

* * *

He feels well when he wakes up from his nap. Groggy, but in a nice way, like when you wake up from a good night’s sleep and you don’t want to get out of bed too soon. Rested.

For the first time in a long time no nightmare troubled his sleep.

He scans the room, looking for his roommate but Billy isn’t there. Steve figures he must already be downstairs, smoking a cigarette or doing whatever it is that Billy does to pass time. He checks the clock on the wall and _shit_ , it’s almost time for practice.

He hurries into his basketball uniform and checks his hair before getting out. There are cheerleaders in the hotel and he’s literally sharing a bed with his crush, he wants to look presentable.

Once he’s done, he pockets his room key and closes the door. There’s a chance the others are in Tommy’s room right now, probably stashing their pot and booze for after dinner.

Steve walks down the carpeted floor of the 4th level’s hallway, looking for the noisiest room which is set to be Tommy’s and the general hangout for his basketball team. To his surprise, he finds most of the team gathered outside the elevator.

"There he is!" Tommy’s new best friend, Eddy Hammer, exclaims the second Steve appears in his eyesight.

Tommy emerges on Steve’s left, a red flush spread over his freckles. "We were starting to wonder if you’d show up at all, Harrington."

His voice sounds a bit slurred and so do the sounds of laughter around Steve.

They must have had some of the stashed alcohol. Coach Richards isn’t going to be happy about his players drinking before practice and when, for the first time in a long fucking time, they stand a chance to win a huge competition.

"But it’s great to see the King himself has finally deigned to join us."

Steve rolls his eyes. Literally no one calls him that anymore, except maybe Billy when he’s fucking with Steve at school.

Talking about Hawkins High’s new king, Steve spots a head full of blonde curls in the corner of his eye.

Billy is standing against a wall, a cigarette poking from behind his ear. He looks like he’s at a crossroads between being bored as if there’s a million places he’s rather be, as if he is uninterested in the whole ordeal unfolding before his eyes and absolutely fucking irritated. It’s a normal look for Billy, Steve thinks, although he wouldn’t have expected it given the charming mood he’d left the boy in earlier.

Steve dares a little smile his way because, they’re supposed to be friends now, _right_? — it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that the guy is wearing those _tiny_ green basketball shorts and Steve can see his powerful thighs and there’s a worrying and insistent pulse of warmth uncurling low in Steve’s belly.

Billy doesn’t smile back though. Instead, the pair of deep blue eyes bores into Steve’s with a look of something... menacing and... worried?

_Why?_

His internal conflict over whether or not Billy is happy to see him is cut short when he hears laughter again. _Ugh_ , Eddy or Tommy must have said something stupid again. Probably at Steve’s expense.

He looks at the others again and sees Eddy gesticulating in front of them, most likely imitating Steve because his head is on the wall facing the elevator and he’s faking tears.

What the hell is that guy's deal anyway?

Steve expected this shit attitude from Tommy and the quips he’d throw anytime he was in Steve’s general vicinity but he certainly hadn’t expected it from Eddy too.

With Harrington and Hagan’s brutal falling out last year, the high school’s popularity pyramid had been reshaped and somehow that guy had leeched himself onto Tommy.

Steve hasn’t really kept track of the ups and downs of social climbing in Hawkins High — as he was too busy going through near-death experiences for the second year in a row — but it seems that guy is really working for the top.

What a fucking dick. Steve mumbles a _dickhead_ and turns, ready to head for the stairwell next to the elevator, when a hand on his arm stops him dead in his tracks.

"Why are you running, Harrington? The little show I put on reminded you of something?"

Steve breaks away from the mean grip. "Why don’t you fuck off, asshole?"

"Watch your fucking tone, Harrington." Eddy’s all up in his face now and his breath stinks of alcohol. "Why so butthurt? Can’t you take a fucking joke anymore? Did Nancy take your sense of humor when she left?"

"Keep her name out of your mouth, Hammer!"

"Or what?" Eddy asks and now he’s just inches away from Steve’s face. "Hargrove here was just telling us about your little meltdown. S’that why that cow left you?"

Steve’s mind goes blank for a second.

. . .

. . .

_Billy told them?_

He feels like a spectator in his own body as Eddy smirks in Billy’s direction and the guys laugh even louder around them. It feels like his surroundings are melding together and sounds faint as all of his attention focuses solely on Billy.

. . .

. . .

_Did Billy really tell them?_

"Oh don’t look so sad, Harrington. We know you wanted him to cuddle you in bed all afternoon like the fucking queer you are but —"

Something in Steve snaps and he punches Eddy in the face. There’s laughter again, a few exclaims and winces and someone even shouts a _way to go Harrington_ but Eddy is quickly back on his feet. He looks fucking enraged and Steve braces himself for the incoming hit. It doesn’t come.

Instead, the elevator dings in front of them and Coach Richards gets out.

"What the hell are you all still doing here?" he barks, "Get your asses downstairs!"

The team starts gathering inside the lift in a buzz of disappointment for not being able to witness the fight and elation for getting to see a glimpse of the old King Steve.

Steve doesn’t though. Not even when Richards calls after him and the elevator dings and dings and dings merrily as the coach keeps the door open.

Steve’s eyes and Billy’s lock just as he walks past the group to get to the stairs. He hears Eddy laugh some more and Billy’s voice telling him to _shut the fuck up_ but the door has already slammed behind Steve.

This is definitely a memory that will end up on his list of things he shouldn’t think about.

It's really getting too long now.

* * *

It takes Steve a few minutes to get his breathing under control. _What the fuck?_

He grips the stairwell rod as he walks down and there’s a searing pain in his fist. _What the fuck?_

Billy Hargrove has managed to simultaneously exceed and severely disappoint Steve Harrington’s expectations.

Steve doesn’t know exactly what he expected from the guy who beat him blue and red two months ago. Compassion? Understanding? Kindness?

He knew Hargrove had none and still, he let his guard down and allowed him to hurt Steve again. He knew Billy was probably bored out his mind and Steve offered a good distraction. Still, he went ahead and fell for it.

Who was he kidding honestly? With his pathetic try at being friends?

Of course Billy would run back to the team and make fun of him.

And Eddy had called him a queer, had literally spat the word at Steve’s face... is that what Billy thought too?

Is that why he agreed to share the bed in the first place? So he could get confirmation that Steve Harrington likes sharing his bed with boys and tell the others? So they would know Byers isn't queer, but Steve is? He'd heard the guys use the word before in the locker room when someone would stare a little too long in the showers so it shouldn't come off as a surprise. But it does.

In the hallway then in their room Billy had looked so sincere, so...

 _No_.

He has to stop thinking like this. Stop holding out rope so Billy can hang him with it. It’s stupid and ridiculous.

That version of Billy Hargrove, the one that helped him ride the wave of panic in the hallway, the one that read Russian literature to him, the uncharacteristically gentle version of Billy is gone.

Period.

By the time Steve gets in the lobby, the hurt is gone and is replaced with white, hot anger. It’s probably the angriest he’s been in his entire life.

* * *

"Love the energy, Harrington, keep it up!" Coach Richards yells from where he’s standing at the edge of the court, whistle in hand.

Steve’s face is burning and his blood feels like lava in his veins. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this aggressive and fierce at practice; it turns out anger is a wonderful fuel. The Shirts are leading by a good margin and Steve has scored at least half of the points on his own.

It’s easier today since some players are clearly suffering the downside of drinking before practice; still, Steve gloats internally as he takes the ball from Eddy’s hands for the third time since the game has started.

''Hammer, are you playing basketball for the first fucking time in your life? Get your head in the game!" Richards reprimands, one more time.

Clearly, Eddy is not too happy about it because he starts tailing the brunet like a fucking dog even after Coach Richards tells him to _get the fuck back, it’s not your job to guard Harrington_ and he bumps into a few of his own teammates.

The humiliation of being punched in public by Steve and the fact that Richards yells at him every single time he messes up finally makes Hammer take it up a notch because the next thing Steve feels is cold and hard.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Steve hears the strident sound of Richards’ whistle then an angry voice yelling at someone from above him.

Above him...?

He sits up from where he's sprawled on the floor of the basketball court to find Coach Richards screaming at Eddy for purposefully crashing hard into Steve. "Next time you pull that shit, you're getting benched! And don’t you dare do silly shit like this tomorrow during the game. If you give a free throw to the other team, I’ll —"

Steve tunes out from their conversation which is more Richards threatening to kick Eddy’s ass than anything, really. His teammates from the Shirts ask if he’s okay and he nods although he still feels like a cartoon character with a myriad of little stars dancing around his face.

A tan hand appears into his eyesight and Steve is surprised to see it’s attached to a sweaty Billy Hargrove.

Billy had been strangely quiet towards him for the entire duration of the game. He hadn’t tried to bother Steve like he usually likes to at practice nor joined along in all the joking and shit-slinging Eddy got up to at Steve’s expense and most of the Skins happily played along to. Not once did Billy add to the taunts and sneers with one of his patented _Harrington, the King who turned bitch_. 

Hargrove hadn’t been easy on Steve either. He had been just as pushy and antagonistic as usual, knocking Steve hard when he was guarding him, checking and tripping him and getting all rough on the court as if he was trying to make some point that Steve wasn't quite picking up on.

The whole thing had been confusing for Steve and now there’s this hand in front of him, offering to help him up and... why is Billy doing this? Hadn’t he shown his true colors earlier? Why is he still pretending to care about Steve and keeping up this friendship charade?

Coach Richards blows his whistle again and Steve ignores the hand in front of him, getting back up on his own.

The drill resumes for another 12 minutes with this time the Skins dominating the game. Eventually, the two teams tie and the Skins win thanks to a lucky shot by none other than Eddy Hammer who relishes in his victory, smirking at Steve. The irony.

Steve doesn't get to lament because, as losers, the Shirts end up doing a couple of push-ups reps and run laps. He can't help but think it's somehow his fault.

By the end of practice, Steve is exhausted. The anger that motivated his high dissipates and he’s crashing down hard; he stands with his hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his hair and blood rushing in his ears like a waterfall.

It stops just in time for Steve to hear the end of Richards' pep talk about the big final tomorrow and his instructions on how he expects his players to behave tonight in the hotel’s fancy restaurant.

"You guys eat well tonight. I wanna see plates full with good things. Remember CPV!"

It stands for carbohydrates, proteins and vitamins and the team knows it because the players say it out loud with cheer. It’s in those moments that Steve understands why Richards hasn’t been fired yet; with all the cursing at his players every day and the swearing, the guy is still a good coach.

"Everyone’s better be downstairs at 7:30 sharp in appropriate clothes." the coach continues, "You hear me Hargrove? Appropriate clothes so you better wear your fucking shirt like a normal human being."

Steve forces his eyes not to look at Billy.

Not as the players break out, dispersing on the court to either go back to their room or to the locker rooms.

Not when he walks past the blonde-haired boy to reach his much-loved staircase and feels the boy stare at him from behind.

Not when he hears footsteps following his own then stopping, leaving Steve alone to start his ascent to the 4th floor.

Back in the room, Steve showers quickly, puts on some nice dinner clothes as Richards specifically requested then gets out.

He doesn’t want to see Billy.

He doesn’t want to pretend, it’s so exhausting to pretend all the time — he understands now what Nancy meant when she said it’s bullshit. Pretending to be in love, pretending to be friends, isn’t it the same thing in the end? Doesn’t it have the same outcome? Which is to leave Steve feeling fucking numb and empty and stupid because he’s the only one who isn’t pretending. All the love that he had for Nancy, all these things that he feels for Billy... it’s not pretend, not for Steve. Never for Steve.

There’s still a little over an half hour before dinner so he wanders about in the lobby, looking at art pieces on the walls that mean nothing to him and at his own reflection in the glass windows of the hotel’s indoor boutiques.

Finally, Steve sits in a plump chair. It looks like the one in his father's home office and Steve picks at the leather as he waits for the rest of the team to show up. His eyes follow the flow of happy guests and busy staff walking about, minding their own business. It almost feels as if he’s out of time, out of reach and touch, in a little bubble of untroubled space.

It pops when Steve’s eyes catch an older couple in opera clothes, hand in hand, laughing as they go out of the lobby. The man is in a tux and the woman in an elegant nightgown and for a second, Steve believes he’s staring at his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington who forget there’s a third person in their family.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington who never pretend at anything except caring for Steve.

The couple crosses the lobby and are greeted outside by the doorman as they wait for their car.

Steve can almost see it, picture it under his closed eyelids: Mrs. Harrington thanking the chauffeur using a wrong name because she never bothered to learn his actual name, Mr. Harrington sliding the doorman a hefty bill as a tip because money keeps people on a tight leash and evens out the creases in the Harringtons’ disinterested personalities.

And to think Steve was like that too, negligent and uncaring for those he believed didn’t deserve his attention. Like Jonathan Byers and the people at the bottom of the school’s popularity pyramid.

Like Barbara...

Steve can see the fake Harringtons’ car leaving through the hotel’s glass doors.

Is this what his parents are doing right now, wherever they are? Living their life, not once wondering if their only son is alive and well.

If Steve had died that night in the tunnels, how much time would it have taken for them to realize it?

A week? Two? A month?

The merry _ding_ of the elevator resonates somewhere in the lobby and Hawkins High’s basketball team floods the area.

Steve snaps out of it.

* * *

Dinner goes as well as it could go with a bunch of excited teenage boys eating with their rival team and surrounded by cheerleaders. Judging by the expression on Coach Richards face it’s going far better than what he expected and he chats happily with his coach colleagues.

Steve stares at his plate and it feels like the dish is staring back at him. The waiter had haughtily called it _Chicken Alfredo_ when Steve had ordered _chicken pasta_. As if it's more than pasta, chicken and vegetables. It's not even as good as the Italian dishes his mom cooks when she's in Hawkins. Her head is full of memories and recipes from her homeland but she never stay long enough to share them with Steve. He rolls his eyes, losing the staring contest between him and the creamy fettuccine with chicken strips and leeks. The food doesn't taste like anything at all; it could just be that Steve's feeling like crap but honestly, he never had quite the palate for fancy restaurant cuisine.

Since he's barely paying attention to his surroundings, the soft chatter of conversation falls around him in a nice hum. He’s aware of a few attempts at having a discussion with him made by some of the players but he can’t really bring himself to care.

Eventually, they just leave him alone, blaming his mood on fatigue given how _terrific_ he was at practice today, and their conversation just sort of settles around him too. Steve can hear them voice their concern over tomorrow’s game and excitement over the chance of coming back to Hawkins with a sparkling trophy for the main hallway’s way too empty trophy case and a great cash prize for the school. Someone also mentions winning the tournament would be a stellar thing to add to their college application and it breaks Steve’s heart a little.

He had never really thought about the future — his future — beyond the given that he would go to the college his parents had chosen for him then get some sort of cushy job at his dad’s company. However, dating Nancy had changed that; she had pushed him up and encouraged him to want more for himself like she wanted more for herself than what Hawkins could ever give her. So, Steve had started envisioning another future, one that he would pave for himself and that maybe included marrying Nancy, his high school sweetheart.

Obviously, things are different now. Ever since the Upside Down, it feels like his life has been put on hold for an undetermined amount of time and while he’d been busy crying at night and jumping at his own shadow, everyone else had figured out what they wanted out of life.

It’s a bit disheartening, to see things move on when he feels stuck in the same place no matter how much he tries to go with the flow.

A new voice joins that of the boys next to him and Steve can easily recognize the Californian purr of Billy Hargrove. He wonders what Hargrove will do after high school.

There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that the blonde will leave Hawkins, his radio blasting off a song from The Scorpions or some obscure metal band as his blue Chevy Camaro will disappear forever past the city's welcome sign.

Billy will leave and so will Nancy and Jonathan and everyone else whilst Steve is going to stay there, stuck in the same place, getting dusty like the furniture in his parents' room. Still and lifeless. Forgotten.

Blue eyes look into his and Steve looks away.

He empties his plate and signals to Coach Richards that he’s going upstairs.

He doesn’t want to think about this.

On his way out, Eddy Hammer throws him a _have fun taking the stairs_ , and Steve flips him off.

One of the regular guests of the hotel witnesses the scene and scoffs, scandalized.

They might have just ruined Richards' wish for a classy, quiet dinner.

* * *

Steve leaves the restaurant feeling on edge. He really wants to go to bed. He hopes he falls asleep before Billy gets there because Steve really isn’t in the mood for another try at pretending to be friends or pretending he doesn’t feel a rollercoaster of emotions for the guy.

He’s a few steps into climbing the stairs of the first floor when he hears footsteps after him. It’s Billy. He knows it’s Billy because he knows exactly how Billy sounds when he climbs up stairs, he knows it’s Billy because he can hear the clinking of a golden chain twisting under nervous fingers.

 _Gosh_ , he hates that he knows that.

"Steve?" Billy calls after him. Twice.

"C’mon, you don’t wanna talk to me?"

"No I don’t. You see, I’d rather save my breath to climb all of those fucking stairs since I go nuts around elevators. Didn't your friend Eddy tell you that? Oh, wait no, you told him!"

"So that’s what it’s about?" Billy asks.

Of course that’s what it’s about. What the fuck else could it be about, Steve thinks.

He stays silent though and continues to walk.

Billy calls after him again.

"Fuck off, _Hargrove_!" he spits out.

"What? We’re no longer on a first name basis, princess?"

Steve thinks he could punch him but he resolves to ignore him and ignore that stupid fucking nickname which, as furious as he is, still manages to make his insides boil.

Billy groans in exasperation.

As they start their ascension of the third flight of stairs, the blonde-haired boy grabs him by the arm.

They stand like that for just seconds but it feels like minutes go by in the tension-charged stairwell.

"You know, earlier, with the guys, with Eddy. I wasn’t—I didn’t—fuck."

Billy speaks in a hurried, anxious manner and it’s strange seeing him stumbling over his words. Usually, the blonde-haired boy is all quips, bravado and smarts. Steve has only ever seen Billy speak like this once — a couple of months ago, in Hopper's office.

For some reason, it angers Steve even more.

He’s mad at Billy Hargrove’s botched apologies.

He’s mad at Billy Hargrove for being so fucking infuriating, for making Steve walk on eggshells around him then act as if nothing's wrong, for being so kind to him and then so cruel and dismissive. Just like Steve’s parents who say they care about him and then leave him to rot, alone in Hawkins because it’s all just pretend. It's all just pretend.

It brings out something mean and sharp in Steve.

He’s done being treated like shit. Two can play this game and he can hit where it hurts too.

His mind reaches back to a few days ago, in Literary Analysis class, where Billy is usually at his most condescending and Steve at his most captivated with him.

He thinks about Ms Vaughn, their teacher, saying, _You really do deserve that scholarship, Billy_ after Hargrove makes a great point about Flannery O’Connor and the inevitability of belief in _Wise Blood_. It had really struck Billy the wrong way.

So, Steve knows exactly how much the words are going to hurt when he gibes in an overly sweet manner,

"Can’t find your words, Hargrove? Aren't they supposed to be your strong suit? The reason why they gave you that scholarship? The reason why you can even afford this trip?"

As expected, the rage is back in Billy’s eyes instantaneously and for a second Steve thinks the other boy is going to lash out. He knows he can’t take Billy on his own, it would just be a repeat of that night with no syringe to help him out this time, but Steve feels like he wants to fight. However, it’s just a flash on Billy’s part and the boy takes a big breath and lets go of Steve’s hand.

"Wow. Okay, Harrington, I see how it is." he scoffs, his tongue poking at his cheek.

Billy pushes past him and the door marked _4th floor_ slams after him.

Steve feels his legs giving out under him. He slumps down the ramp and sits on the cold stairs, his head on his knees. He’s not exactly proud of himself, the words he said left a bad taste in his mouth.

This isn’t like him. This isn’t like Steve at all —at least like the person he wants to be now. A person who doesn’t shove his wealth at the faces of those who are less fortunate. One who doesn’t break cameras just because he can and ignore people and let them die in the woods because he’s too busy partying and kissing girls.

What he said to Billy came out straight out of Before Steve’s mouth. It’s the kind of things he would have said to make Tommy and Carol laugh. They would have backed him up, told everyone in Hawkins High then they would have forgotten about it, too busy living their little lives at the top of the pyramid.

In front of him, a red exit sign flickers.

Steve closes his eyes.

* * *

Billy is already in bed when Steve gets back to the room. Steve is not sure if the boy is sleeping but the lights on his side of the bed are off and Billy’s chest is rising and falling in an evenly way so he assumes the boy must be sleeping.

 _Good_ , there’s no need to make niceties and pretend now. They can just go back to Billy avoiding him at school, to the stolen glances and the awkwardness between them. Billy doesn’t have to pretend to care about him.

Steve brushes his teeth and changes into his pajamas —green ones that his mother sent for Christmas when she, too, was pretending to care about him.

He gets into bed. It’s just as comfortable as it was this afternoon and he can’t help but miss that moment. How could it have soured so easily, so fast?

Golden curls are spread out on the pillow next to him. It’s strange actually getting in bed with Billy; it’s not like they were this afternoon because this time Steve can fully feel the other boy’s body heat on the other side of the bed and if he were to scoot closer, they would be touching, skin to skin.

If Billy were awake, would he have something to say about how the mattress dips behind him as Steve shifts under the same covers as him?

If Billy were awake, would they still be angry at each other or would they have made peace by now?

If Billy were awake, would he see that Steve is sorry and that he regrets everything that’s happened? Would he forgive him?

But Billy is sleeping so none of this happens and Steve keeps his dimmer on because he can’t handle the silence, the darkness, the angst and the guilt.

"Kill the lights. I want them off."

Billy’s voice isn’t loud but it’s sharp and Steve hears it perfectly in the deafening silence of the room.

He flicks the switch on the lamp on his bedside table and the room falls into complete darkness.

Seems like he’s getting the karma he deserves.

* * *

Steve is home, in the pool. His feet dangle in the blue water, making waves at the surface.

It’s night but the automatic timer is on, lighting up the circular lights at the edge of the pool next to him. There’s a gentle and reassuring glow coming from the house, where all of the lights are lit and there’s laughter and music on TV.

The pool’s lights flicker.

Once.

Twice.

And then he’s in complete obscurity. Everything has faded away, including his house and its comforting gleam.

That’s when he hears it, something like a growl, something like an animal hunting for prey. Something like footsteps getting closer.

He’s familiar with that sound, knows it like his own name; he had known it at the Byers when Christmas light where shining on Nancy and Jonathan’s scared faces, he had known it when he walked down into the Henderson’s cellar, he had baited it with bloody meat on the old train tracks, had called out for it to come and get him at the junkyard.

He’s familiar with the sound but still, he dreads it, what it announces.

He wants to grab for his bat, Nancy’s bat, the one Jonathan put spikes on but it’s not here and Steve can’t find it in the pitch black gloom.

His hands find the pool’s control panel.

The _on_ button is just there, a faint circle of green light right under his fingers but he can’t press it — his hands are so wet and it’s so goddamn hard. He tries and misses, tries again and misses again and again and _again_.

The footsteps stop.

The lights flicker again and come back on.

Around him, it’s Hawkins but not quite. It’s more like a decaying version of Hawkins, it’s dark and cold and misty. Ash-like spores drift through the air and stick to his skin.

This isn’t right. He’s got to get out of there.

Something grabs at his leg and drags him into the pool, and, for a second, he thinks he sees a glimpse of fiery red hair.

And there’s blood, there’s blood everywhere — _Is it his?_ — but there’s no water.

He looks around him.

It’s the tunnels. The place is eerily quiet and Steve’s heartbeat sounds like thunder in the silence.

He’s really got to calm down because every breath he takes fills his nostrils with the horrid stench of decomposing flesh and poison. He doesn’t want to pass out or worse, alert _something_ of his presence.

He’s breathing so loud now that he has to use both of his hands to muffle the sounds his mouth makes. He fears he’s hyperventilating.

Suddenly, there’s a metallic sound.

"Steve? Steve, are you there?"

Dustin’s voice is coming through a walkie-talkie.

''Come in, Steve!"

He sounds distraught.

Steve picks it up and tries to speak. His words come out slurred, as if his mouth is full of gravel and dirt.

''I can guide you to us Steve. Come in, please!"

Steve opens his mouth again but this time no sound comes out at all. Dustin’s voice gets even more worried and Steve holds the walkie-talkie as close to his mouth as he can. He tries speaking again but he can’t, he can’t, he _can’t_ —

Screams come out the radio and then it’s just static.

He runs. He has to get to the kids, he has to protect them. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he turns to his right then to his left and his right again. Vines slap him in the face and scratch at his feet and his sides. He can feel the warm lick of hot blood on his body but he doesn’t stop. He promised to protect those kids.

He has to find them. He has to. He has to.

He trips on something and falls like a sack of rocks into a puddle of goop, root-like tendrils and blood.

Something shiny flashes in the corner of his eye. He looks and see something gleams in the midst of it all; he battles the vines for it, ripping through pulsating membranes.

It’s... Dustin’s walkie-talkie.

He can’t breathe.

He hears growling behind him. Just as he turns, it lunges and rips him apart.

* * *

He wakes up screaming.

There’s a hand on his mouth. There’s a hand on his mouth and he can’t breathe. Steve’s eyes snap open and, as unfocused as they are right now, they manage to catch Billy’s features. Suddenly, he’s back at the Byers with Billy over him and fists are raining down on him and the kids are screaming again.

He startles, fights against the weight on him and the hand over his mouth but Billy is too strong and soon, he has Steve’s arms in a tight grasp. Steve twists against the grip, chest heaving, legs kicking and there’s a voice in his head chanting that Billy is killing him and that he has to protect the children. So, he bites into the hand on his mouth and hears a loud _'Fucking hell’_.

With Billy’s sudden movement and Steve’s erratic ones, they both tip off the bed, sending pillows, blankets and the lamp on Steve’s bedside table flying down.

The hand on his mouth is gone but Billy is still over him.

"Get off me," Steve screams, "Get off me!"

Realization must hit Billy like a brick in the face because he gets off Steve in an instant.

''Jesus, fuck, Harrington, calm down, calm down."

The second Billy lets him go, Steve launches backwards, scratching his hands into shards of ceramic from the broken lamp.

It hurts and there’s blood on his hands. Instinctively, his eyes stare at the wall behind Billy, ready to see it open into a gate of vines and toxic biological growth and let monsters in, attracted by the smell of blood.

But nothing happens.

Nothing happens because he’s in Indianapolis and the gate has been closed for months now.

It’s okay, he’s okay.

It’s okay, he’s okay.

It’s okay, he’s okay.

He repeats that mantra over and over in his head until he realizes it’s not his voice saying it.

Steve blinks a few times and then sits up from where he had curled into a ball.

The second wave of the panic attack crashes into him as the adrenaline departs his body. The fear is still here but it’s fading away and leaves place for an anguish so deep, it has Steve's breath hiccupping and stuttering. His vision blurs and tears start cascading down his face.

Billy is back on his side instantly, pulling Steve’s hair from his face.

''It’s okay, you’re okay."

Mixtures of self-hatred and fear and tiredness and regret are buzzing in Steve’s head and his whole body starts shaking.

He lets go and sobs into the younger boy’s chest.

''I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." He’s sorry for being a disappointment to his parents, for being a shitty boyfriend to Nancy and a shitty basketball player and a shitty student, for not being able to do what’s right and protect the kids and save Barbs and above all, right now in this instant, he’s sorry for being such a fucking dick to Billy who’s not his friend but who’s helped him better than Steve’s own parents have ever done.

''I’m so sorry, Billy."

He repeats it, again and again and again.

It feels like Steve Harrington is nothing but a big teardrop. He’s full on sobbing in Billy’s arms now and it’s gross and there’s probably snot on his pjs and he’s sweaty but Billy is holding him tight.

Once the tears stop, Steve feels his body being moved to the bathroom. There’s the sound of tap water running then a cold cloth on his face and the pinch of antiseptic on his hands where he cut himself.

Then Billy’s gone. Of course he’s fucking gone, he’s still angry at Steve. He’s angry and it doesn’t matter if he wiped the tears from Steve’s face and had him drink of glass of water to calm down.

Steve lets his body slide down the wall until he’s sitting on the cool bathroom floor. The tiles are cold against the back of his neck, damp with sweat.

He snickers to himself, cynically. Didn’t he go to Indianapolis so he could get a break from this? From the nightmares, the monsters, the Upside Down?

How long will they follow him wherever he goes? How long will they haunt him?

He wants to escape this. He’s dying to escape from this, even if it’s just for a moment, just a break from this. It's meant to be over, it was meant to be over but he's been hurt in so many ways, some his brain doesn't even realize, some he shouldn't have been in the first place and it doesn't seem like it's going to stop.

After all, nights in the big city look like they are the same as in Hawkins.

Well, not really.

For starters, from where he’s sitting on the floor he can see Billy’s paraphernalia on the counter: his toothbrush, his cologne, his comb, something shiny like an earring and it’s sort of helping Steve relax. It’s a bit domestic and intimate and it reminds him that he’s no longer alone in that open-house like mansion where most of the rooms are not lived in. Billy’s stuff on the counter makes Steve feel grounded, present. Like Steve’s a person and not just part of the furniture.

Also, it’s different than in Hawkins because the Indianapolis version of Billy Hargrove is allowed to be nice to Steve, nicer than the shoves into the lockers and the _Watch it, pretty boy_ s. He’s still a bit of a dick but he’s also... kind?

There’s also the fact that Hargrove consoled him whilst he was sobbing, like really ugly sobbing and that in itself is a major deal.

The very same Billy is now knocking on the door and opening it.

''Hey." Steve greets him, lethargically.

Billy greets him too and slides on the floor in front of him.

Now that Steve can see them, he notices that Billy’s eyes are a mix of concern, interest, sadness and compassion, and maybe a thousand more emotions that say _What the fuck?_

''What the hell was that, Steve?" he asks.

''I’m sorry," Steve starts, ''I didn’t — I didn’t think I’d have one tonight. I should’ve said something. I’m sorry I woke you up."

The blue-freckled eyes are still on him, expectant. He better come up with a good story, it’s not like he can tell Billy the truth; although, right now, with those deep, blue, so blue and so worried eyes on him, it does feel like he could say a million things to Billy. But he can’t.

"It was just... a bad dream." he ends up saying, lamely, echoing what he had said in the bus.

''Looked like more than that." Hargrove retorts, hands on his necklace.

 _Damn right_ , Steve thinks.

Billy sighs. '' _Jesus_. It’s just— Earlier in the bus and then in the elevator and now. _Fuck_. Steve, talk to me. Let me know how I can help. Let me know how I can make this better."

''Why? So you can go tell my secrets to Tommy and his toadies?"

It’s a bit of a low blow and it’s clear that the comment rubs Billy the wrong way because he rolls his eyes but they can’t just glide over what happened earlier.

''I didn’t say anything to them." His voice is hard and so are his eyes. Convincing.

''How did they know then?" Steve questions him.

''They saw, Steve, _they saw_. They were in the elevator too! _Fuck_ , they were in the hallway too and Richards was going fucking berserk so I said I’d take care of it, take care of..." _You?_

Now that Billy mentions it, Steve recalls hearing many voices around him in the corridor after he got out of the elevator.

Still, he frowns, "But Eddy said..." but Billy stops him.

''Since when has Hammer been a reliable source of information? You know he likes to make shit up. I showed up late to his and Tommy’s little party so they just assumed you were still..."

Steve listens attentively.

"I didn’t even want to go to that stupid thing anyway, made me fucking sick to hang around them all afternoon. Especially Eddy. There’s only so many times you can talk to that guy before you punch him in the face."

They laugh then Steve smiles and so does Billy, all teeth. It’s still a little overwhelming how a genuine smile softens Billy’s features.

"But it’s King duties, you know?" Billy carries on.

Steve knows.

"He was right about one thing, though. Eddy."

The brunet frowns. "What?"

"Spooning you in bed wouldn’t be too bad. You kinda look cute with drool on your face."

He knows Billy is just messing with him but Steve can’t help the warm feeling in his chest from rising to his cheeks and color them a bright red. He wishes Billy wasn't joking.

The sound of their laughter fades around them then it’s just them breathing in sync.

Damn, Steve feels stupid. Soap opera character stupid, like those Mrs. Henderson watches in the evening and that Steve get a few glances at when he drops Dustin off after class. He’s been giving Billy hell over nothing with his jumping to conclusion. He doesn’t realize he’s said that last part out loud until Billy laughs.

"Damn right, you should feel stupid, asshole. I hope you can jump on the court as well as you’re jumping to conclusions at the game tomorrow."

Laughter warms all of Steve’s chest again and chases the remaining of the despair away.

"C’mon out," Billy says, holding out his left hand as he gets up, "I’m not letting you sleep on the bathroom floor."

Steve hears the invitation _Come back to bed with me_ , and honestly, it makes his stomach twist up a bit.

He holds onto Billy’s hand and doesn’t let go until they reach the bed.

The shards of ceramic have disappeared and the linens are back on the bed.

"You can take my side," Billy says and his tone is nonchalant but his eyes have intent, "The lamp on yours is fucked."

Steve slumps down on the bed. It feels so good, he thinks he’s liquefying. He decides Billy’s side of the bed is the best.

Between the glow of the lamp and Billy’s muscular body next to him, he feels safe.

He takes a big breath, the pillow smells like Billy. He closes his eyes.

"Steve?" Billy calls behind him, quietly.

"Umm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did", Steve laughs.

Billy reaches out and pinches Steve’s side in retaliation, making him yelp and squirm under the bed sheets.

He rolls over to face his bedmate. They’re so close that, in the dim light, Steve can almost count all of Billy’s long eyelashes over his ocean eyes. The golden necklace around Billy’s neck gives a soft gleam as its owner’s fingers twist it.

The motion stops which sends Steve back into the discussion and he realizes Billy’s studying his face too, waiting for permission to continue.

Steve mouths _go ahead_ although he dreads whatever’s about to come out of the other boy’s mouth.

"In the dream..." Billy starts and he’s just inches away from Steve but it sounds like he’s all the way in another room, "In your nightmare, is it me that you see?"

Steve freezes, that was unexpected. He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again but no words come out as it dawns on Steve’s mind that Billy thinks he’s the reason for Steve’s nightmares —which would explain what he said in the bus and _so many_ other fucking things. He almost asks why when he thinks of the kitchen floor at the Byers, covered in Will’s drawings, shattered plates and Steve’s blood.

In front of him, Billy lies silent, expecting. If he twists his chain any harder, it’s going to break and Steve doesn’t know exactly what transcends him to do what he’s doing but his hands reach out for Billy’s and he carefully detangles the fingers from the necklace.

"You scared of me, pretty boy?" Billy asks. It’s obvious to Steve now, clear as daylight that Billy is trying to make amends, he’s been trying to make amends the second he got on the bus to Indianapolis because he thinks Steve is scared of him and Steve has been so fucking blind to it.

"No. No, it’s not you, Billy," Steve responds honestly. "I’m not scared of you. It’s just— I’m just so fucked in the head."

His voice wavers and for a second Steve fears the tears will be back. He fights them off.

"That makes two of us then."

Steve gives a little smile at that. He’s been so used to having his own little circle of friends going through terrifying shit that he almost forgot the rest of the world also have their own issues. It’s almost comforting ... to know there are other sorts of pain to go through.

Blue eyes are still on him, watching. "What’s it about then?"

Steve considers it again, for a moment. He really does consider telling Billy everything, but sighs instead.

"I don’t — I can’t really talk about it."

"With me?"

"Yeah — I mean no, I can’t say to anyone. It’s just... Something happened a couple of months ago. It was... pretty fucked up. It’s over now but my mind is not over it yet."

Billy hums in understanding next to him and the soft sound gets lost in the noise coming from the slightly opened window. It’s really late in the night but there’s still some indistinct honking in the streets and chatter and shouting and that indescribable murmur that qualifies big, busy cities. It makes Steve think about how different Hawkins is at this time of the night —how quiet and dark, especially during the winter. He feels safer here, in Indianapolis, in between never fading lights and the heat of Billy’s body bleeding into his own. It makes him dread going back, especially if the team loses. It would be his fault somehow and they’d never stop giving him hell about it.

"Do you think we’ll win tomorrow?" Steve asks, partly to slake his fears, partly to hear Billy’s voice again.

The blonde-haired boy is staring up at the ceiling, his hands tucked under his head on the pillow. He laughs, "Fuck yes."

 _Of course_ Billy thinks they’re going to win. He’s been demolishing the other teams, ripping through Hawkins High’s opponents and carrying his team to victory. Every. Saturday. Night.

''I like your confidence," Steve says, ''And you should be, you’re a very good player. You’re the reason why the team made it this far."

Even in the soft light, Steve can see Billy’s lips curl into a proud smile.

''Come on now, pretty boy, you gonna make me blush. You should be confident too, you’re good, you were great at practice today. And you threw me the ball so I could shoot that last basket last Saturday so it’s team work, yeah?"

Steve gives a smile and the younger boy returns it.

He likes to know he’s on Billy’s team.

''It’s team work, yes."


End file.
